Ties
by spazztic-author
Summary: Its been 15 years since the Blight ended and Verthandi went into hiding. When the king visits unexpectedly, her quiet life of solitude changes once again, and she's forced to tell him what she's hidden from him for all these years.
1. Reunion

_**I own nothing of the Dragon Age universe, except Verthandi and "Ziffaniel".**_

The first sign something was different was the clue and silver banners on the horizon two hours after dawn… Maybe a procession of the Bannorn? Some new human festival? They had too many for Verthandi Mahariel to keep track of, but if it was a festival, there would be drinking and much merry-making, and tomorrow her little stone cottage would be packed with over enthusiastic revelers begging her aid to mend cracked skulls, scrapes, and maybe a sprain or two.

The older dalish woman sighed, returning to her clothesline. The wet laundry would not hang itself much as she wanted it to. When this was done, she would have to head to the forest to gather herbs, check the traps, and so on. It was a quiet life, even if it wasn't compared to the screaming nights and endless battles of her Warden days, and she loved it. She could see herself living out her days here in near solitude, keeping her part of the Brecilian forest and acting as healer for the minor villages nearby.

She was feeding the pair of horses and lone halla in her pasture when she felt rather than heard the throbbing hoofbeats racing up the road towards her cottage. Horsemen, and... a cart, maybe? So strange... it was too early in the season for traders to pass by, and it seemed urgent as well. Maybe an accident in the fields? It would explain the urgency in the horses' pace. She quickly finished feeding her animals and ran back to her cottage. She would feel foolish if she was mistaken, but she would rather be mistaken but prepared than risk a life to protect her image.

She had just enough time to clear the table and braid her hair back before she heard the thunder hooves at the road, set far back from her cottage. She finished washing up her hands before throwing the door wide open and trotting outside to meet whoever was visiting so early in the morning.

She could see a carriage on the road, not a cart, flanked by guardsmen astride lean horses bred for their speed and endurance blocking the narrow dirt road up to her cottage. She approached slowly, glancing at the coat of arms on the banners but not recognizing the symbol. It looked like a strange bird attacking a cat of some kind, but it was hard to tell when the banners were at rest. The colors were familiar though, blue and silver... but aside from seeing them at dawn, she couldn't place them.

"You must forgive me, my lord, if I do not recognize your banner. May I know who is calling on me?" She stepped closer, wiping her hands nervously on the apron tied to her waist as she watched the carriage door and guardsmen suspiciously. another upstart bann taking offense to an elf holding land?

"It hasn't been that long, has it Andi? You already forgot my name... where's that dalish memory I always heard about?"

That voice, branded into her heart so she could never forget it, called to her from the depths of the carriage. That was no bird attacking a cat, it was a rampant griffon with wings outstretched. Blue and silver... the colors of the Wardens since he would not share the Theirin seal or colors. It could not be, after all this time... no!

A guardsman opened the carriage door, and the man she saw in the carriage stopped her blood cold and widened her eyes with shock.

"I know its been a while, Andi, but I remembered you as a more spirited woman in our Warden days. Come, all this silence is unnverving---"

"You are unwelcome here human. I demand you leave this instant!" She ripped the apron off in a single, fluid motion and pointed back the way he came. Her face was a mask of anger and hate, furrowing her tattooed forehead as she glared at the king, a man she once called lover.

Alistair.

"How dare you speak to the king like that, you insolent little knife-ear!" The guardsman nearest her started to raise his hand to her, presumably to retaliate, but she did not let him get that far. Before his hand was even raised, a small knife had found its way to hers. When he went to strike her, she pressed the edge softly to his neck.

"You try my patience, human. I will demand again, leave my property, or do you have no love for those whom serve you?" Her words were bitter, stone gray eyes dark while the brighter amber flecks seethed with anger.

"I'm sorry Andi, he was out of line. I only wanted to see you again... its been fifteen years." She wouldn't look at him, because seeing those eyes with that tone of voice would be her undoing.

"Then talk! I have no time or patience for shems who will not leave when they are asked to." Verthandi took the knife from the guard's neck, turning her back on them as she slipped the knife back into its hiding place in the sleeve of the leather top. She folded the apron and tied it back in place around her waist, making it clear she would not even grace him with her gaze.

"It's been a long trip Andi---"

"_**Lady Verthandi Maharial **_is my name human. You lost the rights to call me anything else long ago." She folded her arms across her chest and turned slightly to continue glaring at him over one shoulder.

Alistair sighed, frowning as he stared back at the elf. He'd known she wouldn't be, happy to see him. But he didn't think she would be so angry with him still, after fifteen years without any contact what so ever. Maybe that was why she was so angry! She had probably expected him to visit much sooner.

"I'm sorry, Lady, I did not mean to insult you." She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Alistair almost never apologized in a serious tone, unless he wanted something. "May I impose on you further and ask for your hospitality?"

She sighed, lower her arms and abruptly walking up the long road back to her cottage. "As you wish. But **they** must stay at the road. They will scare the animals." She didn't wait to argue. those were her terms, and if he did not wish to accept them, he could simply leave.

Verthandi left the door open when she returned, knowing her luck would not be so great she could avoid this whole encounter. She returned the flower vase to the table, returning poultices and salves to their places in the cabinets. It was as she was starting to prepare her breakfast when the once unwilling king entered her stonework cottage.

"Somehow this isn't how I pictured you spending your days." Alistair said as he hesitated at the doorstep, peering in before finally stepping into the kitchen.

"Close the door. And how did you picture me 'spending my days'? Waiting in the Denerim alienage for you to call on me? I heard the whispers in the court Alistair." Verthandi had taken out a knife and a cutting board, and began peeling some fruit on the counter beneath a window overlooking the pasture.

"That's not what I meant Andi, and you know it."

"Verthandi!" She sharply corrected, missing the fruit and nearly catching her thumb instead. "I was not idly posturing for your guards." Her words were still sour.

He sighed, watching her back. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her. He suspected however, if he got within a few paces of her, he would likely lose a hand or find that knife somewhere in his arm. "What happened, Verthandi?"

She paused for a few moments, chopping the peeled fruit into smaller pieces.

"Nothing happened. You simply became king, Alistair."

"You make it sound as if I had died."

"You did die, to me, when you acted as if our love suddenly didn't matter, because the nobles didn't approve." She was almost snarling, the words burning when they hit open air. "I was good enough to die for them, but not good enough to love you, to be with you." The elf gathered the cut fruit and mixed them in a bowl almost savagely. He recognized that bitter, almost evil smile on her face. She'd worn it when she betrayed Anora's trust at the landsmeet and declared herself Alistair's champion. "How is that quest for a child going anyway, Alistair? I heard your new wife will lay with everyone _but _you."

He didn't remember crossing the room or grabbing her shoulder to spin her to face him. He didn't remember her ever dropping the knife but when she tried to shield her face it was gone. He only remembered raising his hand to strike her just as his guard had tried. Verthandi flinched away from the hesitant hand for just a heartbeat, not expecting him to react so violently to her cruel jab. When she realized what she was doing, she roughly pushed him off. "Humans... so quick to resort with violence to a minor verbal dispute."

"And you overstep your bounds!"

She turned back to the bowl, crushing nuts with the flat of her knife. "And you were such a fool. If I wanted that whore on the throne I would have allowed her to remain queen rather than name you King."

This infernal woman was trying to drive him to violence. Her silver tongue must have grown barbed over the years, and unless he calmed down it was likely he would grab her again. He sighed, going to the far side of the table and sitting down to watch her back. She'd retained the body she'd had so long ago, whether it was just the active semi-dalish lifestyle she led or if it was something else, he was glad for it.

"Its not like I had much of a choice."

She slammed the knife into the wood of the cutting board suddenly, burying the blade so deeply it stood upright without her hand. She turned on him then, planting her palms on the smooth wood and leaning over the table to glare at him angrily. "You were KING, Alistair! King! No one could ever force you to do something you did not want to do! But you buckled! Like a weak kneed child, you broke! Further, you joined with that WHORE I worked so hard to dethrone!"

He slammed his fists to the table and jumped up, his face just inches from hers. If she wanted a fight, by the Maker--

"Mother?"

They both froze, leaned over the table looking as if they were about to tear out the other's throat. It was Verthandi who looked away first, her face transformed from vicious hunter to something much softer, something far more kind.

"Ah--,... Ziffaniel, what are you doing home so early? I thought you were training with the clan and Master Ilen today... you were not to be home until an hour before dark."

The young woman was small, even for an elf. Her strange orange hair was a perfect match for Verthandi's vibrant waves, but her eyes were a hazel more green than light brown. She had her mother's features, but there was also something, quite familiar about her.

She grinned bashfully, leaning her unstrung bow against the wall near the door and tucking the light pack beneath it. "I was... but I fell in the forest and master said I should return home."

"Did he now... I hardly think Ilen would send you home because of a tumble." She stood up and smoothed her apron, motioning to the chair nearest her. "Come then, let's have a look."

Ziffaniel hestitated, looking nervously at Alistair then Verthandi. "Well... I did get scraped, on my cheek--" She unconsciously ran her fingers over the scrape on her face before sitting down in the chair, carefully avoiding her mother's playfully suspicious eyes.

"I see! And how strange, a matching bruised eye." She murmured, leaning down and tenderly examining the girl's face. She turned to the cabinets and pulled down some salve. "This forest you tumbled into, was his name Ashel?"

"I only hit him because he called me a--!"

"Shh, its alright Ziffaniel. We'll practice archery together once Lord Alistair departs, to make up for the lost day. But for now, take this and eat with the halla in the pasture! The more time you spend with him, the deeper the bond." She spread some of the clean smelling mixture over the scrape placed a sticky piece of linen bandage over it before giving her a portion of the nut-fruit mixture.

Alistair sat back down, suddenly very interested in the wooden table while Ziffaniel cast one more curious look at him, then she was gone again.

"Is she... is she yours? From you, I mean."

She turned away from him again, leaning against the counter and staring out at the pasture. She was trying to avoid the question, but he wouldn't say anything more until she finally answered him. "She is of my body and blood, yes."

"Who's the father? When, when did you? I thought... you told me that the dalish..." he struggled to find a word without sounding vulgar, "I thought your people bonded only with, one person."

There was that bitter, poisoned smile again. "No, she's not yours. Zevran is her father. I found comfort in his arms the night after the final battle of Denerim."

Something close to pain crossed over his face before fading. "You must be, very happy."

She nodded. "Did you expect me to remain faithful only to you Alistair? After you ended things between us? I was to wait for you until I died?"

"No. I suppose not."

She looked at him then, the mask of hate falling away to expose the pain underneath. "I'm really sorry, Alistair."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She shook her head once to either side. "I am sorry, for the way things went between us. How they must be between us."

"Heh. I should be apologizing to you, you know. Not the other way around." He smiled softly, standing up. "Well, now that we've got all that hostility out of the way, I think its high time I left you to your animals and, what was her name? Ziffaniel?"

Verthandi looked away, hiding her eyes as if she were ashamed. "...Yes. Her name is Ziffaniel. But Alistair, you've only just arrived-- must you really leave so soon?" She was suddenly looking at him with the full weight of her gray eyes, asking a silent plea. She was angry at him, yes, and she probably would be for the rest of her life. But, that didn't mean she didn't want to see him ever again. That was why she had struck that bargain with Morrigan.

"I would stay longer, if I could... but I was only here on court business. The villagers were talking of the elf warden in the hills. I mean, how many of you can there be right?" He sighed. He both hated and loved that look. It meant he selfishly still held a piece of her heart, but... he wished he didn't. He was happy to think she had moved on, because in some small way it helped him move on. The fact she hadn't, and that it hurt her so to see him go, wounded his own heart. "I need to get back to the capital. To Denerim, before the whole of Ferelden falls apart without me to poke more holes in it, you know."

"I... I understand." Her expression flinched for a fraction of a second, and if he had blinked at the wrong time he would have missed it. But there was her stony mask, firmly in place. More firmly, he suspected.

Alistair stepped forward, as if he was going to hug her, to try and make it easier, but she stepped away. "It was, good to see you again Alistair. Let's just leave it at that."

He frowned, but nodded. She was right. She was always right. "I'll send you letters. If you'll receive them."

Verthandi nodded. "Of course."

The once-unwilling king stepped out of the door, catching a glimpse at Ziffaniel as she huddled, hunched over next to the door. She gave him a surprised look, her eyes darting between him and the door he had just left through. She was, adorable to say the least, looking so conspicuously inconspicuous. He smiled at her, winking and pointing back at the door. "I don't think she noticed."

Ziffaniel smiled shyly at him, waving as he walked down the path back to his carriage. She waited a few minutes, crouched next to the door, to try and organize her thoughts and reanalyze the conversation she'd just heard in the house. When she felt secure, she stood up and walked into the cottage with more confidence than she truly felt.

"Mother? Who was that shemlen?"

"Hush with that crude word little one. He is the king of our lands." Her mother was seated in the chair Alistair had used. Her eyes had that weathered, distant look she always had when she was 'thinking of the better older days'. That old, preserved rose was on the table again, but the woman didn't dare touch it.

Ziffaniel sat down across from her mother at the table. If she was to get answers, now was as good a time as any: when Verthandi was lost in memories she would never share. Her tongue was looser, something she would need to get through this gentle interrogation.

"When the king was here, Mother," She reached a hand out to nudge the old rose with a finger, "Why did you call me by my elvhen name? And... why did you tell him uncle Zevran is my father? I thought you said father was, human."

"Because, Alisa. That man is your father."


	2. Journey

_**I own nothing of the Dragon Age universe, except Verthandi and Alisa (a.k.a. Ziffaniel).**_

_**PS - I ACTUALLY UPDATED. The world as we know it is about to implode. Enjoy guys, I know its been long overdue. Last thing, Alisa is classed as a warrior (instead of her mother's rogue). Its not too significant but yeah. You'll see~**_

The night was far calmer than Alisa felt as she lied in her room. Her father was human; she'd known that much long ago. But, she'd never known he was a king. King! Ashel would never call her a dirty shemlen again!

But... why had mother kept that from her? Why didn't father know her at all? Why did mother lie?

She decided then that she was going to go to the capital and see him, and demand to know what happened before she was born.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Alisa sat up and watched the light under the door as it dimmed. Whenever mother got like this, she almost never fell asleep. All she could do was hope Verthandi was just too exhausted to stay awake, and begin preparing for her journey to Denerim.

It seemed like days before the light grew dark before being entirely snuffed out, the thrill of her advancing plans chasing any thoughts of sleep out of Alisa's body. She had only a few precious hours before dawn to prepare as silently as she could, or else she risked mother waking up to find her with far more supplies than she needed for a simple day-long trip through the woods.

Alisa waited a few minutes before slipping out of bed, tip toeing to the chest at the foot of the bed. She emptied the pack she kept for training in the forest, and packed two sets of leather clothing. It didn't give the same protection as armor, but it made her less noticeable in a crowd. She found the spare daggers in the bottom of the chest and hid one between the clothes in the pack and wore the other on her left hip.

The elf-girl knelt near the door and strained her ears to be sure the kitchen was empty. With a slow push, her door opened and she crept into the moonlit kitchen. There was no light under Verthandi's door, so Alisa felt more confident sneaking around the cupboards slipping poultices and bandages in her pack. She gathered up a smaller pack and wrapped some dried fruit in some cloth before packing it in. She threw in jerky and the extra water skin before heading back to her room.

By chance, she paused at her door and glanced back at the table. The preserved rose was still there, untouched. She hesitated before picking it up and taking it with her. She'd need proof she was Verthandi's daughter incase he didn't recognize her, and what better proof than a magically preserved relic of love? She stashed the rose in a box and tucked it into a pocket for safe keeping.

Alisa closed her door and began dropping the bags outside her window, grabbing the carved halla-horn whistle before dropping down herself. When the window slid shut, there was no turning back but the odds of getting caught were severely diminished. She ran to the pasture, bags and bow in hand, and climbed up the rails of the pasture. The horses had long since gone to the barn but their only halla, a stag named Sovelo, was still grazing under the moonlight.

The stag didn't seem to see her, so Alisa straddled the fence and blew a low, long note from the whistle. Sovelo looked up, taking his time as he picked his way across the field. He stopped a few feet from her, watching her with wary eyes.

"I know its late, Sovelo, but I need your help." Alisa began, digging around in the food pouch. The stag snorted, shaking his head so his carved horns rattled strangely. "Before you say no, I brought you some of your favorite-" She held up two halves of a dried plumb. Sovelo watched the plumbs as if he were entranced and took the last few steps forward to reach eagerly for the fruit.

"Ah ah, gotta help me first. Do you know how to get to Denerim? Could you take me there?"

The stag huffed at her, catching her sleeve and pulling her hand down within range, his way of agreeing to the terms. Alisa smiled and climbed down, tying the packs together and lashing them to Sovelo's back. She knew her mother would know what happened when she saw Sovelo was gone, but she had no choice. Sovelo could understand human speech, and he knew how to get to most places. He was stronger and faster than any horse, and better yet he liked Alisa. The horses didn't.

Alisa opened the pasture gate so Sovelo could walk out, closing it behind him and hopping up so she was astride his back. She looked back at the cottage, Sovelo waiting patiently for her to be ready before trotting down the road towards the forest. When he hit the tree line, he broke into a gallop, forcing Alisa to stop thinking about Alistair and what-ifs and just focus on holding on.

-v^v^v-

Verthandi wished she hadn't told her daughter the truth, atleast not until she was a few years older and could understand _why_ they couldn't be with Alistair. The girl still had fairy tale ideas about how love conquered all.

Well, love didn't conquer all. It certainly didn't conquer politics.

The elf sighed. What had been done was done. She would simply have to wait until the girl returned home in the evening to talk to her about everything. In a few months, maybe she'd take her to Denerim to see Alistair, if she could trust the girl to hold her tongue. But... that seemed too cruel to both her and the King. No, they simply could not have a relationship.

She tried to ignore the conflicting thoughts while she went through her morning routine. So strange, Sovelo was usually the first to the gate for the morning feeding. Only the stallion and his mare trotted eagerly out of their stable to greet her. Maybe the old halla had wandered to visit the Dalish herd, or a wild group had traveled close by. Regardless, she pushed the thought out of her mind. She had other things to worry about.

As the sun began to set, Verthandi started worrying. Ilen didn't like keeping the initiates in the forest after dark. The more dangerous predators hunted at night, and there were still werewolves in the forest that were not involved with Varathorn's curse. Maybe something had happened? But certainly Ilen or another scout would let her know if something had happened.

Verthandi froze for a moment, realization dawning on her. She threw open the cupboards and took a quick inventory of the supplies that remained. Nearly a third of the poultices were gone, and a few bottles of salve too. She stumbled into Alisa's room, searching her chest and dresser. Two sets of clothing gone, and the daggers she's gifted her for Feastday.

Daggers Alistair had given to Verthandi after they'd helped the dwarves.

It all made sense now! The girl being up before her, before even dawn, the missing halla in the pasture. She meant to run to Denerim!

Gods be damned, she had a halla's day start! The Warden quickly changed into her old drakeskin armor and snatched up her bow. She could only pray that Sovelo had the sense to drag out the journey until Verthandi could catch up to them. She snorted at that, knowing the halla had far too much pride to be caught by a horse.

All she could do was hope that Alistair didn't pay attention to a silly elf child without the wit to know when to remain invisible!

-v¶¶-

The journey to Denerim took much less time than Alisa expected. She knew hallas were unrivaled when it came to forest travel, but she only thought that was in terms of their ability to navigate through a sea of dense, every changing forest terrain.

Sovelo had rarely stopped during the two and a half day long trip. Even while she slept, he walked steadily through the brush (any faster and he would have dropped her to the ground). He stopped next to a creek a few times, never more than a two or three hours, to rest but aside from that it had been one wretchedly-long, bumpy halla ride.

The city itself looked strange to her. It was gray and stoney, not like the tiny cheerful villages she and her mother visited around their cottage. And not a speck of green to speak of! It was all just lifeless gray stone and sad little thatch cottages clustered together along dirt roads. There was a tower in the distance, and a larger building beyond that.

"You should stay here, Sovy." She scratched the base of his horns the way she knew he loved. He snorted, pawing at the ground. She knew he didn't want her to leave. He was nervous about some invisible fear civilization invoked in hallas. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

The white stag snorted again, nudging her shoulder before he turned for the forest. Well... it was now or never. Alisa began the slow walk down the road to Denerim's front gates.

-v¶¶-

It was just as sad-looking inside the city as it had been from the hillside. It was also far more confusing, the roads twisting and turning until they led to nowhere. She'd wandered into the slums at one point, full to the brim with nothing but elves panhandling or begging for work in the mud from the humans that wandered in. A man had even approached her while she tried to find her way, and asked her what her price was.

She couldn't leave fast enough.

It was when she'd finally found a guardsman on a corner in the market place that she finally got proper directions. With a few pieces of silver and much larger lies about being a Warden's messenger from Antiva, he told her the fastest way to get to the palace.

"But... you look quite familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?" His brows were knit together in concentration as he tried to place her face. "The color of your hair is unusually familiar."

"I'm quite sure, ser. This is my first journey outside of Antivan borders." Before he could delay her further, Alisa bowed low and high-tailed it into the crowd and out of the suspicious guard's view.

Even with the directions, however, Alisa still had difficulty finding the palace. But she finally located it, near the dreaded prison Fort Drakkon. So strange, she thought, keeping a prison so near the Royal Line.

The fences and walls surrounding the grounds were tall, but not unscaleable... but she saw several units patrolling the walkways. She couldn't approach the guards at the door, not looking the way she did at the moment and still smelling of the slums. Maybe a smoking dung bomb distraction?

A group of elves and some of the poorer humans were gathering at the gate, more than half of which were carrying large white bundles or pulling handcarts along behind them. The leader of the group, a stout, grizzled human, spoke to the guard at the gate who nodded and pounded on the door. It opened up and the group began to lurch through the opening.

Now or never!

"Lemme get that for you, ser." Alisa bent down and picked up a rather large and lumpy (and good gods heavy!) parcel for the elderly elven man who dropped it. "Let's get going or we'll get locked out." She smiled at him to complete the illusion that she had every right to enter the castlegrounds as the rest of the servants.

"Thank you girl... Eh, what was your name?" The man leaned onto her for support as she carried the bag past the distracted guardsmen.

"Just helping a person in need. Why're you stuck carrying this bag anyway? Who're all these people coming into the castle?"

The man chuckled. "I see! Its alright girl, everyone wants to see the king the night of his return. As for the people, we're humble servants for hire going where the money is. Lady Anora is having a welcome home banquent prepared for the king's return later this evening."

"Heh, everyone knows its just so she can sneak off with her personal guard. If there's a party he's forced to attend while she disappears to do Maker knows what in her darkened chambers." One of the servants mumbled as he shifted his own baggage to the other shoulder.

"And if she or the guards loyal to her hear you spreading that vile rumor you'll be given your own royal welcome in 'ol Drakkon herself."

-v¶¶-

Alisa helped the servants settle in with the rest of the cooking staff, if only to prove to the old man she wasn't trying to sneak into the castle for her own reasons (Well... She was, but that was besides the point.). Once they had finished setting up, she crept away.

She had thought the king would be here by now. After all, he'd had a full day start ahead of her, as well as the final day of traveling she had had to do on foot to the gates of Denerim. She sighed, sneaking into a corridor. She'd just have to find some place to settle into and hide until Alistair finally did arrive.

But holy Haler'ahn, guide of the lost, this was a large estate. Alisa would turn a corner and there would seemingly be a dozen more rooms to check for viable hiding places. So far all she had found was storage space for weapons on unused furniture with the occasional guest room. She'd stumbled into a barrack near the beginning of her castle-crawling adventure, but it had been thankfully empty.

The last room, however, hadn't been empty.

As she opened the door, she heard two or three people wandering towards her location as she checked each room one by one. In a panic, she darted into the next room and closed the door alittle too loudly. Even if the entourage in the hall hadn't heard her, the pair in the room with her knew very well that they were no longer sharing a private moment.

... Well now, this was a bit of a bother.

-v¶¶-

Anora was throwing another flaming party, and she had invited all of the nobles in the region as well as a fair number of her high-standing commoner supporters. Alistair wouldn't get to bed before dawn, all of the people using the opportunity to take their grievances to him and expecting instant results as if he could wave a hand and all would be settled.

No, that was more along the lines of Andi's talents.

The king shook his head, trying to clear the woman from his mind. Maybe he should have stayed with her... an extra day or two from the castle wouldn't have harmed the kingdom. Anora was better at politics anyway.

"My lord, I'm sorry to disturb you so soon after your return-"

Alistair looked up at the guard that had called him out of his reverie. He sighed, flicking an invisible speck of dust from the desk of his study. "Disturb me, Randall. Anything to put off this wretched party Anora has arranged."

"Some of the guards in the basement barracks discovered an Antivan assassin... she demands an audience with you."

"If she is an assassin, send her to Drakkon. You don't need my permission." The king groaned, preparing to stand. Maker's breath, he'd have to put on all that useless, decorative armor.

"Yes ser, but she asked for you by name. She names Verthandi Mahariel as her client and claims to bear a message."

Alistair froze, midstretch. "Did she state outright that she was an assassin? That seems abit foolish don't you think?

Randall shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Lady Anora claims she was dragged down from her chambers into the basement barracks by the woman... she begged the guard not to mention it for fear you would cancel the party."

Alistair sighed. "Of course. A cancelled party is equal to a blight in terms of crisis for Anora. Well, we should attend to the second part of the lady assassin's task shouldn't we?"

"As you wish, my lord."

-v¶¶-

So with Randall and one other guard at his back, Alistair made the suprisingly short trip to the dungeons. The trip itself was uneventful aside from a small ruckus he heard in the kitchens. One of the servants had gone missing and the cooks were sure they were raiding the supplies instead of working for honestly earned scraps.

"She hasn't spoken since demanding the audience. In fact, she's been suspiciously quiet." The additional guard said as they climbed down the stonework steps.

As the trio rounded the corner, as if to undermine the guard's statement, they heard loud clangs, crashes, and the scream of metal as it started to give way.

"Let me out letmeout LETMEOUT!"

The door to the cell farther down the dark dungeon corridor suddenly swung open, the lock distorted and smashed to bits. As the group stood dumbfounded, Alisa stepped out with a sizable brick in her hands. "And mother said I had to learn lockpicking! HA! There is no such thing as locks, only rocks big enough to unstick them!"

She was still marveling at her own cleverness when she realized that Alistair and more guards were watching her with almost stupid fascination.

The girl froze, the stone brick still in her hands, as she stared right back at them.

"Um. The brick... it um, it fell out of the wall. And it landed on the lock." The door creaked, one of the hinges giving out and almost dropping the door to the ground if the other hadn't held. "And the hinges too. It's a bouncing rock, common in some parts of Thedas, you know."

It took everything Alistair had to not burst out laughing right there.

"So um. I'll just leave this here. And get back inside. It would be foolish to break out of the royal dungeon." She bent down to put the brick down, before suddenly throwing it as hard as she could manage at Randall. "Then again I've never been one to play it smart~!"

The brick hit the guard squarely in the gut with amazing force, doubling the man over before it fell to the floor and landed heavily on his foot. As Randall flailed his arms around both in pain and looking for support, he singlehandedly managed to knock both Alistair and his companion to the ground before falling himself.

As they tried to recover from the surprise attack, Alisa made to dash past them in the confusion. What she hadn't taken into consideration, however, was Alistair's reflexes at grabbing the raving bunny of a girl as she tried to hop over his writhing friend with a new bruised stomach and slightly crushed foot.

He managed to grab her ankle as she cleared the guard, tripping her up and forcing her to faceplant into the hard, mildewy floor of the dungeon.

Ha... just like old times.

Thinking of old times, he was finally close enough to recognize the girl in the poor light of the dungeon corridor.

"You! What are _you_ doing here! Does your mother know where you are?"

"Its none of your business, you shemlen ankle-grabber!" The girl replied, rubbing her smarting nose and forehead. "And I'll only speak with the king!"

"I _am_ the king you twit. Open your eyes and look at me!"

"I _would_ if my eyes weren't tearing up. How can you even see anything in this darkness!"

"Well maybe you shouldn't have tried to run away then!" He grumbled, jerking her up by the arm. "She's no assassin, just a fool child away from home. Take Randall to the infirmary. I'll take care of her."

"Are you sure, my lord? Maybe you should have her escorted-"

"I'll be fine. Just get Randall taken care of."

The guard nodded and lifted the limping Randall to his feet. Alistair let them past first before he began dragging the girl up to one of the empty rooms upstairs.

"Your mother is going to bury you in the woods for this, you know that right?" Alistair said after a moment, unable to contain the small smile as he thought of the girl's antics.

"Ha. Not for the reasons you think." She rubbed her nose again. "I was looking for you but the servants said you wouldn't be here for a while."

"I arrived earlier than anticipated. I assume you snuck in with the kitchen servants? The head cook is quite cross with you."

"Is he? I suppose he'll just have to find another little girl to go play fetch for him. I had more important things to do than bring him bucket after bucket of water or gods know what else."

The king chuckled slightly, pushing the girl into the servants' quarters. "Sit down. I'll call a healer to check your face, just as soon as you tell me what your message is." The girl became far more serious, freezing up under his gaze. "What's the matter? Is your mother alright?"

"Mother's fine. But... I came to show you this." She dug into her pocket, pulling out the box she had managed to stash away before the guards could take it. As she handed the box to him, Alistair let the rose fall into his hands. "When you left, she told me... she told me..."

Alisa gulped, her throat suddenly dry and the words sticking. "She told me that you are my father."

=+=+=_**5 Days Later**_=+=+=

Oh, when she got her hands on that evil demonspawn of a daughter!

In her panic to find her daughter, Verthandi had taken risky forest trails to bypass the imperial highway. Early seasonal rains had washed out the trail and destroyed the bridge she needed to cross about midway into the trip. A day and a half was spent backtracking for the highway, and another was lost to allow the horse to rest.

It would have just been faster to take the highway the whole way.

She prayed that Alisa somehow hadn't managed to get into the castle. Maybe Shianni would recognize the girl as her and keep her safe and out of trouble.

HA. She had a better chance of resurrecting Andraste. It had been 15 years after all, and how was Shianni supposed to recognize a child she'd never seen before.

Andi walked the horse to the gate. She would start with the Alienage and work her way outward...

"Hold." She glanced down at the guard standing between her and her daughter.

"Be quick. I'm on Warden business." A little white lie couldn't hurt, not when it came to saving her daughter from the biggest mistake of their lives.

"So you are the Lady Warden Verthandi Mahariel? The king was expecting you days ago."

"The King is expecting me?" She cocked her head at the guard. "Strange, as I have yet to deliver this message bound for him. Why is he expecting me?"

"He will discuss that with you when you see him."

-v¶¶-

Verthandi was led first to the castle, then the castle training yard. It seemed that Alistair was sparring with the warden's messenger as they waited for the retired warden-commander to arrive. Strange, as Andi couldn't remember sending a messenger with Warden news.

Which meant that blasted child was behind it.

Sure enough, she was sitting at a bench along the wall next to Alistair as he showed her how to spot weaknesses and imperfections in the training blades.

Alistair looked up as they approached, and the look in his eyes was not kind.

"Leave us." The guard nodded and left Andi standing alone on the far side of the courtyard. She almost wanted to grab him and beg him to stay. "Alisa, would you mind going to my study? Your mother and I have somethings to discuss."

Maker's mercy and Mythal's shield, the girl had told him.

Told him everything.


	3. Confrontation

"Fifteen years!"

To say that Alistair was... _upset_, was a severe understatement. He was angry, and though Verthandi wanted to deny he had every right to be, she knew deep within her heart she had been wrong. There was nothing left now but to sit and bear the full brunt of his anger.

"Fifteen years, Verthandi-"

"Just Andi is-" She tried to cut in quietly, sitting in an overstuffed arm chair of his personal quarters. Alistair wheeled around and grabbed the arms of the chair before leaning down and glaring into her eyes. They were barely a breath apart.

"Do not interrupt me." He pulled back, still very angry. "Fifteen years, and you never thought to write a letter, send a messenger. Maker's blood and Andraste's tears, I would have taken a dead cat with a note sewn into it's rump!"

"What would you have had me do?" Verthandi replied in a strangely still voice, staring up at the king with angered eyes. "Would you have believed me, if I'd told you that night I was with child? Or would you have seen it as a desperate act by a desperate woman?"

"She thought I was dead! You never, not once, told her anything about me; only that I was a human that had fought alongside you at the end of the Blight!" He began shouting, and Verthandi stood up indignantly in her defense. "All these years, I've had a daughter and she's had a father, but you kept us apart out of spite because of the actions you took years ago!"

"_MY_ actions? Who threw me to the street like a dirty maid, Alistair? Who decided it was more important to placate the nobility, rather than assume the power you were born to?"

"Oh, drop your holier-than-though attitude! Like you didn't have your own designs for the throne!"

Verthandi saw red for a moment, so incited by Alistair's words that she tried to slap him. He easily caught her clumsy swing, squeezing her wrist just hard enough to make it uncomfortable. She yanked her hand away from him, turning on her heel and retreating to the window overlooking a beautiful section of courtyard.

"Don't you dare run away from me, Verthandi Maharial!" He followed her to the window, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her to face him as she pressed against the wall. How she wished she could just sink into the walls and away from him.

"I imagine if I ran, you would hunt me down." She hissed at him sarcastically. "You've made such efforts to stay in contact over the years after all, I don't think you'd have any trouble at all finding me!"

"You were the one who left without saying a word to anyone. Not even Wynne or Leliana knew where you'd gone. When you want to vanish, you can make it impossible to find you so don't try and claim I could have approached you whenever I wanted!"

"Wynne knew." Verthandi spat back at him. She was hurting, ever so slightly, and it made her want to hurt the one causing the damage however slight. "Wynne was my midwife and her grandmother, didn't she tell you? Or maybe she knew as well as I did that you were... _unfit_ to raise her."

"That's not true." He almost sounded as if he believed it.

"Wynne was with me through it all." Verthandi continued, her voice going lower and hissing almost like a dragon as she drove the spines of betrayal deeper. "It was a troubled pregnancy, between the existing taint I bore and the added burden of being a warden. I almost lost her; not even born and I wondered if I was going to bury my daughter before she had her first breath."

"You could have told me!"

"And told you what, Alistair?" Verthandi had stepped away from the wall now, forcing Alistair to back away from her or find her pressed to his body. "Would you have believed it? You were so quick to take her for Zevran's bastard." She laughed, bitter and dark with angry fire dancing in her eyes. "A bastard's bastard, the apple truly doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"That's enough, Verthandi." Alistair stopped, holding the woman back, but she wouldn't not listen to his words.

"I kept her from you, for both our sakes." She brushed his hands aside and stood within a breath of him, but there was nothing tender or romantic in the moment. Her voice was flat, and dead, the anger smoldering just beneath. "She's a relic, from a time long past. What I did was wrong, I won't deny that. But you have no connection. I've raised her as an elf, kept her from the people and humans of your realms.

"Do what is right. Send her home, with me. Where she belongs."

Alistair sighed and stepped back, turning away from the woman and falling into the chair she'd left. "She's my daughter too. By rights, I should send you back to your trees and horses and elves alone. She may be a bastard, but she's a _royal_ bastard, and I won't do for her what my father did for me."

"The two of you know nothing of the other." She came to stand before him, blocking the hearth and its comforting fire from view.

"Because of you!" The king sighed, not meaning to speak so forcefully. "You've had her for fifteen years. Half of our time is gone; and you tell me after all this time, I do in fact have a daughter. A true blooded heir, and you expect me to walk away? No, Verthandi."

"I will not leave her here, Alistair. One Landsmeet at court was enough for me; its more vicious and deadly than the forests and you know it. She won't make it here, a bastard but an elf aswell? They will not accept her."

"You made me King, remember? My word's law."

"So now you flaunt your title? Where was this confidence fifteen years ago?" Verthandi turned with a sigh, staring into the fire. "They're just words. If you think you can sway the fickle hearts of the nobles, that is your trouble. But I won't have you drag my daughter into this little flailing display of royal power."

"Our daughter. And if you're so concerned about her, why don't you stay?"

Her head snapped back, eyes narrowed with suspicion and, something else. "What?"

"Stay at court." He leaned forward, watching her

"I won't be your mistress. You've made your bed with Anora; now you'll lay in it."

"I've never touched Anora, not that its any of your concern." Another deep sigh, while he rubbed his face. "Andi, I'm tired of fighting. Stay as my advisor, or don't. But you will not be taking my daughter from me, not again." He stood up and went to the door, leaving Verthandi by the chair staring after him.

"That sounded like a threat, King Theirin."

"That's because it was."


End file.
